


Ceremonial Costume

by NB_Cecil



Series: October OTP Ficlets [11]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: BDSM Scene, Dom!Data, Fetish Clothing, Humiliation, M/M, Situational Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 12:52:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16264598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NB_Cecil/pseuds/NB_Cecil
Summary: Picard returns from mediating a trade dispute wearing the local culture’s ‘ceremonial dress’: a bunny rabbit onesie. Data seizes the opportunity to indulge in a humiliation scene.





	Ceremonial Costume

**Author's Note:**

> ***Content warnings*** NSFW; explicit sex; kink.

 

Transporter Chief O’Brien sniggers to himself as Lieutenant-Commander Data enters the Transporter Room.

 

“Have you heard, Sir?”

 

“Heard what?” Data enquires.

 

“The Captain had to wear the Keplerian ceremonial costume.” O’Brien sniggers again. “They wouldn’t talk to him without it.”

 

“The ceremonial costume of Kepler V is an ancient tradition, Chief.” Data elucidates. “It commands respect and even reverence in Keplerian culture.”

 

“Have you ever _seen_ this outfit, Sir.” O’Brien is grinning from ear-to-ear.

 

“Not in person, but I have studied images from Kepler’s archives. My understanding is that the garment is a white, hooded, one-piece, made from soft, furry, fabric with two thin, pointed protrusions coming from the top of the hood, a representation of eyes, a nose and whiskers are embroidered on the front of the hood and there is a round, fluffy ball at the back of the garment near the base of the spine. It bears a similarity to a depiction of a domesticated Earth animal called a ‘rabbit’.”

 

“It’s a bunny rabbit onesie!” O’Brien exclaims, laughing.

 

The Chief’s communicator beeps.

 

“One to beam up.” Picard’s disembodied voice emanates from the badge on O’Brien’s chest.

 

“Aye, Sir.”

 

The Transporter whirs and Captain Jean-Luc Picard materialises on the pad, still wearing the Keplerian garment.

 

“Welcome ba—“ Data begins.

 

“Mr Data, we will proceed directly to my quarters.” Picard snaps, striding towards the door.

 

“I see you didn’t have time to change, Sir.” O’Brien heckles the Captain’s receding back.

 

Two giggling children follow them down the corridor, as Picard proceeds at a near-jog in the direction of his quarters, face like thunder. Data lengthens his stride to keep up.

 

“I hear your mediation in the Keplerian trade dispute was a success, Sir.” Data makes a valiant effort at small talk.

 

Picard stops suddenly and spins round to face the children.

 

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” He barks.

 

“The school day ended at 15:00 hours, Sir.” Data reminds him.

 

“Yes, well...” Picard searches for a way to get rid of his unwelcome new fans. “You must have homework. Go to your quarters and get on with it.”

 

The children scamper off, trailing their hands along the bulkhead as they run, still giggling.

 

*****

 

Picard breathes a sigh of relief as the door to his quarters hisses open and he enters gratefully, flopping down on the sofa to tug at his white, fluffy boots in an attempt to remove them. Data stands opposite him, half-smiling.

 

“How nice for you that you find my attire humorous, Data.” Picard’s tone is terse.

 

“As you know, I am incapable of appreciating humour.” Data’s response is deadpan.

 

“Yes well, help me to get these ridiculous boots off. They’re rather tight.” Picard sticks a foot out.

 

“Actually, I believe you look rather fetching.” Data’s half-smile is back.

 

The Android seats himself in an armchair opposite the beleaguered Captain, grinning expectantly.

 

“Alright, I’ll indulge you. What do you want?” Picard gives in.

 

“Ah, Captain, I thought you would never ask. I would welcome the opportunity to study this example of the ceremonial dress of Kepler V. Please, stand up and give me a twirl, Sir.”

 

Picard scowls. “You know I wouldn’t do this for anyone else, right?”

 

“I am aware of that and I am grateful for your cooperation.” Data crosses his legs and leans back in his chair.

 

“Well, you’d better make the most of it.” Picard grumbles. “Once I _do_ get out of this this accursed attire, I am _never_ wearing it again.” Picard stands and walks to the centre of the room, holds his arms stiffly at his sides and begins to rotate slowly on the spot. “I hope this is acceptable to you, Data.”

 

“It is satisfactory.” Data—reclining comfortably—is all innocent, beguiling smile. “I would, however, appreciate seeing how the fabric moves as you walk, Sir.” The Android gestures toward the space of empty carpet between the seating area and the wall housing the replicator.

 

Picard sighs and begins shuffling his way down the makeshift catwalk.

 

“More of a... sashay, if you don’t mind, Sir.”

 

“Please stop ‘Sir’-ing me. This is bad enough as it is without you openly mocking me.”

 

“Aye...” The Android inserts a deliberate pause into his speech, “... _Jean-Luc_.” The name drips slowly, indecently, from Data’s tongue.

 

Picard turns to face him, finding the Android is provocatively running a finger along his own bottom lip.

 

“You are enjoying this far too much.” Picard protests.

 

“Indeed, I do find our situation intriguing.” That too-innocent smile crosses Data’s face again. “Now, the sashay, please.”

 

Picard resigns himself to the humiliation and begins a military slow march toward the replicator.

 

“It is far too... _Starfleet Academy_.” Data springs from his chair. “You must move your hips,” He approaches the Captain from behind, placing his hands on the man’s hips, “Like this.” He sways Picard’s waist gently from side-to-side, his mouth close the the the Captain’s ear.

 

Picard makes a small noise in the back of his throat as he struggles to remain in control of himself at the feeling of his lover’s hands on his body, his breath against his cheek, the brush of his lips against his ear, and the unmistakable press of his half-hard cock into his buttock.

 

“Go on.” Data murmurs, pushing him gently forward and taking a step back.

 

Acutely aware of how ridiculous he must look in the rabbit suit, Picard proceeds, attempting to swing his hips seductively, the costume’s fluffy ‘tail’ wobbling as he walks.

 

“Computer, mirror.” Data instructs and Picard groans as the wall around the replicator transforms into a reflective surface.

 

“Look at your feet, Jean-Luc.” Data is close behind him again, pointing at his reflection in the mirror. “Imagine you are walking along a narrow rail and put one foot directly in front of the other. Like this.”

 

The Android steps in front of his Captain, places hands on hips, and minces expertly toward the replicator. Picard’s eyes are drawn to Data’s butt, wiggling provocatively in his high-waisted Starfleet uniform trousers as he walks, and something stirs in the Captain’s underwear. Remembering his own baggy attire, the Captain’s face flushes as he pictures how his own ass must look adorned in the unflattering fabric. At the end of the ‘runway’, Data pauses to strike a pose before turning in one fluid movement to strut back and stop opposite Picard.

 

“See?” Data smiles, taking his hand to lead him back to the armchair marking the start of their ‘catwalk’.

 

The Android sits, opens the waistband of his uniform trousers, reclines in the armchair spreading his legs wide, and slowly and provocatively pulls his half-hard cock out. Holding his stiffening member in one hand, and eyeing the Captain intently, his begins slowly and deliberately stroking along his shaft.

 

“Please, do proceed.” He gestures with his free hand toward Picard.

 

Picard draws a shaky breath and exhales slowly, directs his gaze toward the mirror, and attempts to replicate Data’s carefully-casual hands-on-hips stance. Satisfied that, although he feels incredibly silly, he is at least giving it his best shot— _In any case, Data is enjoying this,_ he reminds himself—Picard commences an awkward sashay toward the replicator, ‘tail’ bobbing and one ‘ear’ flopping over his left eye as he walks. At the replicator, he strikes his pose, and turns as gracefully as he can with his knees restricted by the low-hanging crotch of the Keplerian costume. He is about to commence his return walk, when his step falters at the sight of Data at the far end of the ‘runway’, still lounging in the armchair, slowly and deliberately swiping his thumb across the glistening head of his engorged cock, raising a drop of precum his mouth, and licking seductively.

 

“Please complete your walk.” Data watches the Captain, hand returning to continue its languid caress of his cock.

 

Through sheer force of will, Picard resists the urge to break into a run toward his lover and the unspoken promise of his brazen performance of masturbation—if he did, he would surely trip over in his baggy costume—managing instead to walk in a parody of a catwalk model, even getting a little swing in his hips as he gathers momentum, back to stand—panting slightly with the effort of controlling himself—in front of the armchair.

 

Data looks him slowly up-and-down, still working his member.

 

“I have now gathered all the information I require on your Keplerian ceremonial costume, Jean-Luc.” He drawls unhurriedly.

 

_Just when I’d forgotten how silly I look_. Picard thinks grudgingly.

 

“But,” Data continues, “Before you remove it, perhaps you would like the opportunity to...” He drops his gaze to his lap “... _taste_ me by way of a ‘thank you’ for your indulging me in my studies.”

 

Picard sinks to his knees and reaches eagerly for the Android’s smooth, gold-shimmering cock.

 

“Wait...” Data gently pushes his hands away and bends down to plant a lingering kiss on the Captain’s mouth, cupping the back of his head with his hand to pull their mouths closer together, probing with his tongue before pulling away. “...Now.”

 

The Android leans back again in his chair, shuddering at the new sensory input entering his circuits as Picard’s lips make contact with the tip of his cock and his hand cups Data’s balls.

 

Floppy ‘ears’ still hanging over his forehead, Picard takes his cue as to pace from Data’s leisurely masturbation earlier. He unhurriedly explores the head of Data’s cock with his tongue, a flick across the tip rewarded with a sharp intake of breath from the Android, and savours the salty tang of synthetic precum.

 

Turning his attention to Data’s shaft, he turns his head slightly to one side in order to plant a slow, deliberate row of kisses down the underside until he reaches the Android’s scrotum, covered in a dark, fine, synthetic hair. He breathes deeply, inhaling the faint aroma of Data’s plastic skin, as well as something far more organic-smelling: the musty scent of synthesised sweat. Picard’s tongue extends to taste; the texture of the fine hairs rasp against it. He notes with satisfaction Data’s quiet whimpering and the small thrusts he is making with his hips: he has paid Data back for his earlier humiliation by taking things teasingly slowly now the Android is in a state of high arousal.

 

Picard stands and briefly shakes each of his stiffening legs in turn. He leans over the Android, who is flopped in the chair with a hungry look on his face, and kisses his mouth, biting gently on his bottom lip before pulling away.

 

“Mmmm, Jean-Luc...” Data moans, reaching a hand out for him.

 

Picard steps out of his reach, smiling. He pushes his hood back, face finally free of obstructions, and takes hold of the tag at the neck of the ceremonial garment. Pulling slowly and maintaining eye-contact with the Android, he unzips the front of the garment, exposing his bare chest. Data responds by raising his hips to strip off his own trousers fumbling them off along with his boots, and hurriedly removes his uniform jacket, flinging the clothing aside so that he sits completely naked in the armchair, his hand back on his still-firm cock.

 

“Personal lubricant.” Jean-Luc strides to the replicator, which responds with a _whir_.

 

He returns with a small plastic bottle of clear liquid. Straddling the Android’s lap, he sits. Data grabs the shoulders of his costume, pulling them down until the Captain’s arms are freed from the sleeves and the top half of the garment hangs at his waist. The Android pinches Picard’s nipple roughly between thumb and forefinger, eliciting a gasp from the Captain, then applies his mouth, biting, licking and sucking greedily as the tissue hardens under his touch.

 

Picard allows himself to be lost in the sensation of Data’s mouth on his chest for a moment before pulling away to apply a liberal squirt of lube to his own palm. Data pulls futilely at the waistband of Picard’s outfit and, careful not to spill his handful of lube, the Captain stands and does a last undignified wriggle out of the wretched costume, kicking the boots off, before returning, naked, to sit as before astride the Android’s lap.

 

Data holds a hand out, indicating he wants lube too. Picard wipes some from his own palm onto Data’s before returning his attention to the Android’s cock, pressed against his own hard member in their adjacent laps. With a slick palm, he gathers Data’s cock and begins a rhythmic stroking, gasping in surprised delight as he feels Data’s hand slip round his waist and between his cheeks to explore his opening with lube-slicked fingertips.

 

With his free hand, Data grabs Jean-Luc’s own hard cock and presses it against the backs of Picard’s fingers.

 

“What..?” Picard frowns questioningly, before realisation dawns.

 

He takes both their cocks between his two hands, pressing them together as Data’s strong arm lifts him under his buttocks slightly off the Android’s lap, two fingers of his other hand now probing into the Captain’s arsehole. Picard continues his rhythmic stroking, pressing both their members together with his hands, fingers clasped underneath in order to maintain a tight hold on their slippery cocks, beads of his sweat dripping into their laps.

 

Picard cries out as his orgasm overtakes him. The hot spurt of his cum pulsing over his lover’s groin and the contraction of his spasming muscles around Data’s fingers pushes the Android over the edge and Data shoots his hot load over the Captain’s stomach and hands seconds after.

 

Picard flops forward, laughing, onto Data’s chest, giddy from exhaustion and the still-receding waves of his climax. The Android kisses his face enthusiastically before standing, lifting the Captain with him as he does so. Picard wraps his legs and arms around Data’s waist and neck to avoid falling and allows himself to be carried to the bed, where he is gently deposited on top of the duvet.

 

“I will fetch a towel.” The Android looks down at the mix of lube and cum covering his chest, legs and groin, then over at the similar mess on the Captain’s body.

 

Picard lies on his back, still grinning, as Data cleans him up.

 

“Data, for whose benefit was all that catwalk stuff about earlier: mine or yours?” He asks.

 

Data drops the towel on the floor and sits on the side of the bed. He bends down to kiss Picard’s cheek.

 

“My hope was to fulfil desires in both of us: my desire to see you humiliated purely for my titillation; and your desire to cede control to someone you trust. Was I successful in fulfilling your desire, Jean-Luc?”

 

“Yes, you certainly were.” Picard admits.

 

*****

 

“Ah Jean-Luc.” Data pulls a crumpled heap of bedraggled fabric out of the garment reprocessor. “Your Keplerian ceremonial costume appears to be damaged.”

 

“What a shame,” Picard smirks, “I must have accidentally programmed the reprocessor too hot.”

**Author's Note:**

> October OTP Ficlets Day 11: “Wearing onesies”. I had planned on this OTP challenge being an exercise in brevity; I have clearly failed in this today.


End file.
